Tony Burgess - The n-Body Problem

He loves that.

“Who?”

“A guy, I said.”

Y nods, like he thinks this sounds doable. He’s all bluff. I could knock his lights out so easy.

“When?”

“When? I don’t know when.”

Y bites his lip. Reasonable, he thinks. That’s reasonable.

“The guy who burned the house out from under us,” I say.

Y’s eyes widen, darken. There’s real ugly in a child on SSRIs and benzos.

“Let’s kill that fuckin’ guy, then.”

Things get moving pretty early in this town. Streets get swept. The message box gets changed out in front of the Evangelical Church to “He is Risen.” I recognize Russel with the letters. I wave. He looks. The sky is covered again. Low cloud. Probably best. I’m in a low-intensity mood. High school kids are out. Golden Apple is open for breakfast. Y is walking just back a bit, studying the signs of things. He catches up.

“It’s not really bad out here.”

He’s relieved. That’s better, tough guy.

“Nope. I guess it ain’t.”

People live here. That’s what I see. Husband and wife rolling wheelbarrows into place outside the Home Hardware. You can’t tell what you’re looking at. I’m pretty sure these people are talking about suicide. Just not to me.

“Let’s eat some food.”

Golden Apple is all pine booths and blond wainscoting. Heavy lacquer. Three old guys in overalls and tractor caps stop talking when we walk past. I almost say hello.

Y orders himself breakfast. Three eggs. Sausage. Bacon. Home fries. Rye toast. Large orange juice. I remember that. The pills give you a new appetite. For a while. I order coffee and a single scrambled egg. Line up the oils. My side is sore where I hit the ground. My belly has swollen a bit more in the last fifteen minutes or so. Y has frown lines. He’s ageing. Something’s up there.

“You get hurt at all?”

Kid’s light. Probably hit the ground like a snowflake. He dismisses the question. My eggs come first. The waitress has a pine look to her. Knotty and yellow. Cigarettes. Why not?

“We need a base.”

Thought he’d like that.

“Fuckin’ right we do.”

I knock some ketchup on the plate.

“Don’t swear all the time. I don’t.”

I give and I can take away. He accepts.

“There any other B and Bs in town?” I ask.

“Nope. Only one.”

“And now that’s up in smoke.”

“I forgot to check,” Y says. “Could you see the ladies in there?”

Y leans back as his plate lands.

“That is one horrific thing to see,” I say.

“What?”

“When they get scrambled up in a fire like that. They get mixed into everything. Everything moves. You gotta look closely to see it. Give you nightmares.”

He’s eating fast. I push the oils closer to him. I’m worried about withdrawal.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“Two days.”

That’s not bad. He’ll feel it but it won’t kill him. I gotta figure out why my stomach is getting larger.

“Did fire trucks come?”

“Nope. I think the guy next door was hosing down his roof in case it spread.”

One of the old guys is staring at us. He’s wondering what the fuck. I glance at Y. He’s downing the oils now.

“People know you’re not my son.”

Y is having trouble with the omega. He’ll get used to it.

“I’m your uncle.”

Y accepts, swallowing. “This about the Seller in town?”

“What about the Seller in town?”

“I don’t know much. Mom took me to the car a couple days after he showed.”

“Yeah. It’s about the Seller.”

“Okay. Well. His name is Art something.”

“No, it ain’t, but whatever.”

“He was at the soccer field a lot. That’s all I know. People seemed to know he was a Seller and some liked it.”

“Yeah. That’s where he started. By now he’s established a place. He’s holding meetings.”

Teenage mom with a rape baby sits in the booth behind us. You can bet she’s onside with the Seller by now. You can tell cause she likes her baby. Talks to it. She wouldn’t do that if she thought they had long to live.

“Time to go,” I say. We grab our shit and head out.

It’s raining again. I prefer that. Hide the damn sky so I can think.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I’m torn about my decision to cut the kid off. There is an upside to having him focused like this. Who knows what he’ll be like? I decide to ditch him if he reverts too much.

“This is a job, right?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Who hired you?”

Is there harm in answering that?

“School board.”

Y laughs. He can laugh at that. It’s pretty funny. Bunch of administrative educators hiring a hit man. Truth is, they are legally obliged to get a Hunter if they think a Seller has been in contact with anyone on school property.

“This Seller’s a sick one. He’ll start hitting people who don’t climb on.”

“Hitting?”

“Torture relatives. Drug people. Kill some. School board’s probably bought already.”

Another teenage mom with a rape baby. Man, you can see what this place was like a year ago. She’s happy, too. Dixon.

“He’s done thousands at a time. All singing the same song. He doesn’t really like to hurt them when they live.”

I salute the young mom. Who the fuck knows why.

“Anyway. He’s not somebody you wanna die around.”

We’re coming to the end of Main Street. Man, these towns are small. Hard to hide.

“Look, I got a feeling he’s closed on a lot of people. We gotta be careful. Can’t buy much. Can’t talk too much. Can’t stay anywhere anyone knows. Is there a park?”

“Down the alley between Ole Pizza and the chocolate store.”

“Ok. Let’s go live in the trees.”

I pull out a pad.

“Here’s what you need to steal. Meet me in the park.”

I write: Razor. Soap. Shampoo. Large tub of vaseline.

“Don’t buy it. Steal it.”

Probably be better if I had one of those rape-baby moms. Bet they shoplift all day.

I only make it halfway through the alley and have to lean against the brick. There is a sharp pain in my stomach. And it’s distended now to the point where it handicaps me. I push a hand in. Very soft. Like it’s full of water. I can feel a corner of the liver is hardened. Cirrhosis? Maybe. Too much anxiety about meds. Too much looking at the sky. This could be big. All my pushing has made me need to shit. I drop my pants and slide my back down the wall. It comes out as water. Like a tap I turn on under my nuts. I bounce over as it moves around my feet. There’s more. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s irritable bowel. I watch the dark leafy fluid run down the alley. If there’s blood then I am fucked. Crohn’s disease would explain the pain. Longitudinal ulcer in the large intestine. Inflamed, even morbid, splenetic plicture. Could explain the hard liver. Spleen might be going up too. What a mess. I study my shit for blood. So far nothing. What would be the outcome? Without steroids I might bleed to death. God, I regret dumping all those benzos now. Sometimes they can be magic. Feel good and everything falls back in line. I need a full spectrum light too. I finally stop shitting. I close my eyes and try to recall the scent of cedar, but all I’m getting is the bland filth rolling down this alley. I pull up my pants. The fabric fuses to my ass and wicks the muck up. Did he say there was a stream? Gotta be. Gotta move.